Page 56 of The Cost of Love

“Well, other than the fact that you are choosing to be poor, how is it going? You told me he took the fact that you have three kids very well.”

“He did, and now we are just moving forward at my pace. I don’t know. He is really great, and I don’t want to lose him, but I don’t want a repeat of what happened with Jamal. I still don’t know what is going to come out of this social worker follow-up.”

She shakes her head and gives me a look that speaks of all her thoughts. It’s clear I seem crazy to her.

Just then, Elise walks in to let us know we are in the clear.

By the time we get out of there, it’s only 3 p.m., and there is plenty of the day left. I stop back at home before my shift at the café. When I walk in, I see the kids still aren’t back from school. Thinking that I have enough time to cook them something to eat, I start to pull out a pan for sausages when my phone rings.

“Chanice?”

I don’t recognize the woman’s voice, and that causes a surge of panic to shoot through my body. Pulling the phone away from my face, the number doesn’t give anything away.

“Yes?”

“This is Reyna Wells from Child Services.”

I drop the pan and hear the clang of it hitting the floor echo in my ears alongside my heartbeat. That with my heavy gasp is like a symphony of my worry playing out over the line. She must hear it because she rushes through the next sentence.

“I don’t know if you remember me, but I worked with you when the children were placed in your care.”

I don’t think I remember much of that time other than the contradicting feelings of concern and relief, but her name does sound familiar.

“Um, yes, hi.”

Unsure of her reason for calling, I let her guide the conversation. She goes on to ask me how I’m doing, and I don’t know what she thinks the answer will be after an introduction like that. Based on the shaking of my hands and the pooling of tears in my eyes, I’m far from okay as I wait to know the reason for her reaching out.

“I’m calling today to inform you that your mother has completed her action plan. She took the parenting classes and has been able to show that she is stable enough now to take the kids. There is going to be a hearing to reinstate her rights.”

“Are you serious?” I fall back against the counter, hoping it will hold me up. It doesn’t, and soon I’m sliding to the floor, my legs pushing against my belly.

“It is always our goal to try to keep families together.”

“I’m their family.” I have to pull the phone away from my face to reduce the sound of my shouting.

“We mean parents and kids.”

Disbelief has me scoffing as I try to outright stop myself from just hanging up the phone. She can’t be serious? If she worked with us when they got taken, then she knows how bad it was. She knows what Deidre is really like.

“Giving birth doesn’t make you a parent.” The spite of years of neglect has it sounding so factual, I don’t know how she can argue with it.

“I understand how you’re feeling, but I just wanted to inform you of the date. If you don’t agree as their guardian, you can go and make a statement. But I have to say, with what recently happened with Jamal, your home will also be in question.”

Here it is. The other shoe dropping right on my head. There was no way we were going to walk away from that incident mostly unscathed.

“It was an accident. He was cooking, and he burned himself. He had a babysitter, and I was working. How can you possibly hold that against me?” I feel like a child again, trying to avoid being punished for something I didn’t do on purpose. Forced to face down the wrath of an unforgiving adult.

“My job is to act in the best interest of the children.” She has to know that there is nowhere better for them than here.

“I’m what’s best for them.”

“That will be decided by the judge. It’s honestly out of my hands at this point. But if you want the best-case scenario, I would try to hire a family solicitor.”

With what money! I want to scream at her. Instead, I ask for the time and date of the hearing. It’s not until the new year, because they want to do a few more home visits first. At least there is that.

Hanging up, I let myself fall apart for a few minutes before I force the tears to stop. I don’t have the luxury of not pulling it together. I need to make them food, and then I need to go to work. After that, I can try and figure out how to keep us together. Despite the fact that I have four solid years of a good home for them, her three months of being clean are enough to take them away.

I can’t stop the shaking, and even when I have to leave for my shift, I can’t fight the tears. I’m five seconds away from falling apart, and I don’t think I can keep it together. I need something to help me keep it together.